Prisoners of desire

  Teaser: Dave and Nina eye each other warily through the veil of a rainstorm, wondering if they can chance another amorous encounter. Mutually obsessed and driven by lust, they have never really been a couple, even if the sex has always been mind blowing.

  Prisoners of Desire – Bryn Colvin

  The rain is so heavy that is runs freely from her hair and pours into the open front of her dress. Her breasts are cold, nipples tortured into alertness, as the chill wind threatens to take her hat from her head. They regard one another—Nina restless with heated impatience, Dave cautious, waiting for some sign that she is not unwilling.

  Behind them, somewhere in the darkness a party is still in progress, but no one will notice their absence, and the shroud of night hides them from unwelcome eyes. She can sense his desire but she does not act yet. He has wanted her before, taken her before only to cast her away with the rising of the sun. She is not willing to dance these steps again, to surrender her self to him only to have her gifts returned used, and finally unwanted.

  It takes all of her will power not to reach out to him. She remembers the feel of his skin beneath her fingers, and the all-consuming passion his kisses could ignite. Before him there had been nothing, only the dull monotony of days and nights, of men and sex that did not stir her blood. His first kiss, the first intrusion of his tongue into her body, the first time they pressed each other close, all these things she remembers now. She recalls a sudden encounter in a University accommodation block, when, filled with anger at one other than herself, he had taken out his revenge on her body. It had been a party then also. It always seemed to be the case that they fell upon each other when drunk, and parted sober. She had never understood why, but there had always been something to sour their encounters.

  That night was a fine case in point. Dave had been chasing a leggy red-head, but she had very publicly snubbed and humiliated him. Nina had left the party with him, offering solace as they left the bar and walked through the wind swept streets to the accommodation block that was temporarily home to both of them. They had been outside his room, talking. He kissed her. It was not their first kiss, but more urgent than previous friendly nibbles. She had felt the need in him, the desire to prove himself after a blunt rejection. Anger and lust mingled in his veins. He had forced her then, not asked or showed her any kindness, only driven her back against a wall, and punished her for the hand he had been dealt that night.

  She remembers the roughness of that first encounter, the bruises he left on her skin, as he squeezed and used her body. Harsh as he was, she wanted him, and by the time he’d stripped her of her knickers, she was moist and aching for him. It was late, the corridor was empty but the fear of discovery thrilled her and made her heart pound all the faster. She remembers the feeling of lost dignity, stood with legs spread and sex dripping while he fumbled a condom over his straining erection. Then the hot and furious bliss of penetration, the hard wall at her back as he hoisted her, held her so she could not escape and released himself in a frenzy of violent thrusts. She clung to him, needing some release of her own but not finding it in his violent taking of her body.

  He’d been tender afterwards, apologetic. He’d carried her to his room, laid her on his small bed and kissed those places that angry hands had bruised. Gently, he parted her thighs again, licking at the soft flesh around the tops of her legs, then further in, exploring the soft mound of her sex. His kisses were like wildfire and she burned for him. He drank down the warm fluids that glistened between her nether lips, and ran his tongue over her already swollen clitoris. She remembers now how he had made her moan, how she had bucked her hips and begged him for more. He had been generous then, licking and massaging her, running fingers over her sensitive and previously unexplored arse. She felt him slide fingers into the hot aching void his cock had created in her, and she pushed against him, wanting to feel as much of him inside her as she could. He teased at her clit, running light circles around it with his tongue, then clasping her between his lips and sucking until she had to beg him to stop. With clearly practised ease, he lead her through a forest of powerful orgasms, until exhausted, she drifted into sleep.

  It was not love, she thought, only desire, only an all-devouring lust that filled her every waking moment and haunted her troubled dreams, only the image of his face in her mind and the memory of those moments. Once known, his passion was not something to forget easily. It clung to her, stayed with her, permeated every moment of life. To touch or not to touch? She considers sating the growing desire within her. He is eager this evening, has laid hands upon her already and sent her flesh into tingling ecstasies. Her body is wet from the rain, and the coldness of it arouses her. The feeling of wet hair against her partially exposed breast excites her, but she is afraid to risk his touch, thinking that tonight he might finally divide her from her reason. She cannot bear to be cast off again.

  He studies her, wondering who she is tonight, for she is always new and strange to him. Sometimes she sees him, often he is invisible to her stare; passed over as one unworthy of her attention. Sometimes she is a friend to him, a teacher and protector, giving him the benefit of her few years advantage. Then at other times she is alive, she breathes and moves for him, she bestows warm glances on him that soothe the chaos in his heart. Perhaps tonight she will retreat once more into her dark shell, and he will see no more of her. Perhaps not. He knows what lies along that path, knows the feeling she will stir in him, remembers the longing and the misery of her absence. He does not want to belong to her in this way, to be weak in her company, a slave to her dark eyes and to the voluptuous curves of her full figure. He feels too much for her, and it will burn him one day, until he ceases to exist. He has tried to protect himself from this, but eventually he succumbs. He wants to speak, to find some words that will tame her and render her comprehensible to him, but he is lost, and no thoughts come to his aid. A word now might break the cool ice encasing her. A word might shatter her, but he thinks it more likely that he will be the one who breaks. She brings him closer each time to the edge of an abyss, and he knows that one day soon he will fall.

  Nina takes off her hat to protect it from the wind. The movement of her arm lifts her right breast, shows it to him more clearly, and he watches the shape of it beneath her dress. It has been a long time since he last saw her naked, and he wonders if she is different now, if he would find some strange markings, tattoos or scars, beneath her slinky attire. Her figure has changed a little in the last few months. There had been other lovers in her life, and she may not behave now as she had done before. There may be new tricks she could show him, and different games to enmesh him still further in her spells. He watches her, wonders, and fights the urge to reach towards her, knowing that as soon as he does, he lets go, and then he will fall.

  "Why are we doing this Dave?' She asks, her voice husky from cigarette smoke and weariness.

  "Because we can't help ourselves." He answers quietly.

  "No?" She raises her eyebrows. "We ended up here last time as well, I recall."

  "That we did." He answers, then "actually we were over there, under the tree."

  She glances across, and now they are both remembering: The last party here, six months ago at most. They had been kissing in the gloom at the foot of the stairs, her dress rolled up around her waist, his hands all over her body, and he had stared at her with an intensity that shook her to the core and said,

  "I think we should go somewhere a little more private."

  The house was full of people and neither of them had cars, so they went out, into the long dark garden. A few feet away from where they now stood was a weeping willow, and that night they had crept beneath its branches. It had been dryer then, and the leaves beneath them we
re crisp, shattering at the briefest contact. It had been a different world to the rape-like nature of his previous approach. Burning with hunger for her he had been patient, reminding her of her time in his bed, tormenting her until she trembled to the same strains of stirring feeling that moved him. In the semi darkness there had been time to explore her as he had never done before; to study the curve of her breasts and the extent of her appetites.

  Tonight they watch old ghosts of themselves coupling beneath the trees, and remember the pleasure they had known in each other’s company. She shivers, remembering with a growing clarity how violently erotic a lover he could be. Somewhere in the rain he had lost that dark aggression, and now he would not drag her with him across the lawn in search of new experience. She thinks that they have grown old, that time has made them dirty and pain has made them weak. Perhaps this time will be different. Perhaps it will be the same, but finally, she thinks, it does not matter, because what she needs more than anything else is to be close to him, and to have the old fire rekindled in her soul. She takes off her coat and wraps the hat carefully in it, placing the two on a nearby seat. He watches, transfixed and bemused.

  "I feel dirty." She says by way of an explanation, "I feel like all the shit in the world is sticking to me. I don't want any of this" she gestures around her, "I want to feel free again, like I used to. I want to feel alive, I don't know if I can even remember how to do that."

  She pulls her dress up over her head. She has worn no underwear, but this does not surprise him. He looks at her, glistening in the rain, the water running down her breasts and dripping from her nipples onto the ground below. She raises her arms to the skies, and lets the rain wash over her. It is harder for him to strip; his trousers and boots are not so easily shed as a slip-like dress, but while she moves in a slow dance across the lawn, he frees himself rapidly, not caring who sees or what follows, knowing only that he cannot resist the temptation she has offered. It is not the sort of party where anyone will be offended. In the house, couples will have secreted themselves in rooms on couches, beneath piles of coats. It’s almost private, but never private enough. There will be smirks and smiles, but no one ever says anything.

  She stays beyond his reach, her movements seductive, provocative as she leads him deeper into the vast garden's darkness. He is conscious of the rain on his body, of the muddy water that splashes his legs and the cold, stone riddled ground beneath his feet. She moves like a beacon before him, and he ignores the occasional pain assaulting his feet. He cannot help but follow. The darkness folds in around them, and he soon loses sight of her.

  Dave is brought to a halt suddenly by the warmth of her body against his. She is shivering from the rain, but her skin burns and he wraps his arms about her. A sense of completion rushes through him. This, after all, is where they should have always been. Her mouth is hot, and wet from the falling rain as she raises it to meet his. Water drips from his hair into her face, but where their bodies meet they are warmed by the growing lust that drives them finally to the ground. They no longer notice the cold, as bound to one another they forget all else but this passion that haunts them. It is as it has always been, and lost in each other, they make love, furiously, as in turn they pound one another into the yielding earth of the garden. She rides him, mounted high like a goddess, her dark hair framing her pale skin as the moon appears from behind a cloud to illuminate her sensual beauty. He is enchanted by the rhythm of her body overlapping his, by the tight press of her sex around his ever-hungry cock. Where she touches him, his skin erupts into life. He hovers on the brink of orgasm, waiting for her, determined that she will come first. When finally she arches her back and releases the cry of pleasure he knows so well, he lets go, feeling the hot rush of fluid ecstasy.

  It is not enough. There is a hunger in his soul that he cannot satisfy, and as she lays herself down on top of him, he knows the same need is pulsing though her veins. He rolls her beneath him, hard again and wanting her. She is compliant, slippery with mud and rain, lithe and willing. He drives himself into her once more. In feverish exchanges of pleasure they try to purge themselves of the pain of the last few months, but nothing will fully satisfy them, and in the end, when they are too tired for anything other than sleep, the loneliness and longing still hangs over them both. Cold and exhausted, they return to clothes, to house and lights, party and reason. The storm has passed.

  She wonders if tomorrow, they will be strangers again. Perhaps this time they will be able to transcend the barriers that have previously fallen between them. She hopes she will find the courage to phone him. She hopes that if she does, he won’t refuse her this time. When they lie together, she knows how much he wants her, but afterwards something makes him hold back.

  On the edge of the circle of lights around the house, she pauses, dressed again now although her skin is splattered with mud and there are leaves tangled in her hair.

  “Wait.” Nina asks him.

  She kisses him, it is kiss of friendship and of tender passion. She knows now what she needs. Much as she loves the sex, it is comfortless, and she craves the gentle eroticism of after-play.

  “Lets not fuck up this time.” She says, and adds “Pun intended.”

  For the first time in a long while, Dave smiles at her.

  “I want it to still be like this when you sober up.” She continues, “Don’t run away from me this time.”

  He can no longer delay the inevitable, and wonders if they stand any chance of surviving one another.

  Bryn Colvin

 

 

  Bryn Colvin, Prisoners of desire

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